


Warmth

by cjr09



Category: Eldemore
Genre: basically a self indulgent story for my ocs, because I've had a shitty day and my children make it better, rip you guys, so here's this thing, sorry to everyone who was hoping for an actual fandom story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjr09/pseuds/cjr09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She does not realize it but she has always been cold.</p>
<p>The cold is the weight of their expectations on her, the whispers when they think she cannot hear. The pity in their eyes when she waves to them and the pride of her parents when they see her walking with her wedding gift.</p>
<p>She cannot speak because the cold has crushed her voice, but if she could she would <em>scream.<em></em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

Her parents present her with Avis with a kind of pride she did not understand at the time, and does not understand to this day.

They give her Avis- the beautiful young Tyto Elkrin who will never grow into a majestic steed, who was never meant to be able to defend her bonded in battle, who was forever young and meant to stay that way, young and pretty and mysterious- and they tell her _“Sweetheart, this is your wedding gift.”_

She does not understand those words at the time, doesn’t think that the pride glowing on their faces is anything more than pride for their third child and second daughter bonding to her Elkrin.

They think that it is the first step for their strange child who whistled instead of speaking, whose shoulders shook when she laughed but no sound escaped, who mimicked the birdsong with her hands and clever use of breath; they think it is the first step for her to be _normal,_ to be _natural._

She is glistening emerald eyes and long bark-brown hair pulled into an elegant braid, she is darker skin freckled with constellations and thick antlers just beginning to grow in that her mother kept filed short because they would be too thick, too short to curl in any regal matter befitting someone of _her stature,_ and she is going to grow up beautiful.

She cannot speak, and the forest weeps for it, for surely her voice would put the birds to shame.

She is given her wedding gift when she is seven in human years, and the entire kingdom glowed when they saw her walk with her gift proudly by her side.

She will make her husband very happy one day, they whisper, and she pretends not to hear.

She cannot speak, but if she could she would _scream._

 

* * *

 

 

She wanders-  she wanders far, to the edges of her kingdoms’ borders where she waits and watches and whistles to the birds because they will _listen_ and Avis helps her avoid the people who come looking for her until they cannot run anymore and they will never _not_ come looking for her.

She is seven in human years and she wants to run, wants to wander and leave all of the proprietary and pitying looks and the pinched pride on her parent’s faces and never return.

She wanders to the human roads through the forest- further than she normally goes, but she has already evaded the guard once and felt like pushing her luck, because there is a festival today and she adored it. She was given a mask that hid everything but her eyes and looked like Avis, and she is wearing a cloak that billowed from her arms like wings and behind her like tail feathers. She is meant to represent an owl god and she has never felt more at home in her own skin and she never wants it to end, so she runs and wanders and makes it far.

Fire flickers through the trees, but does not consume them- someone has lit a campfire in the middle of the road in preparation for the oncoming night, and the ones presumably responsable lounge about it, talking softly and laughing.

There is a wolfkin, a human, and something she cannot place, but they are new and she has wandered this route before and has never seen anyone.

She is curious, and despite Avis’s warnings she wants to try to speak with them.

She is desperate. She just wants someone to _listen._

The group is not the best at hearing, if nothing else, because she thinks she has made a fair amount of noise to alert them to her presence but the wolfkin still startles with a shriek she would not have thought he was capable of making.

He cowers behind the one-she-cannot-place and her shoulders shake with silent laughter because even with their young age the wolfkin is larger than the-one-she-cannot-place and likely always would be.

The small Serval with them hisses in warning and the Humming Bumble rockets into the air, ready to take a dive at the holes in her mask and she held her hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Hi,” says the one-she-cannot-place, a little breathlessly and more than a little cautious, arms spread to place the wolfkin and the mostly-silent human boy behind her protectively; she likely does not realize she does it. Her foot edges towards a staff, ready to kick it up and into her hands and the small boy has already drawn a knife she did not see him reach for.

The-one-she-cannot-place has mismatched eyes and a strange marking on her arm, and looks at her with caution and curiosity. She is small but ready to fight, thin in a way children should not be but takes pride in who and what she is and her ability to take care of herself and her own. The-one-she-cannot-place is strange and she is drawn to know more, because she is speaking to her and not who she is meant to be.

It is refreshing, because it is not pinched pride or pity, not leering or completely looking through her.

The-one-she-cannot-place is looking at _her_ and not what she is meant to be, to grow into.

“What’s your name?” The-one-she-cannot-place asks when she makes no further move to come towards them, arms dropping slightly as the Serval’s fur lowers, and she does not have to think before she takes off her mask and holds it out to the girl, covering her face with one long wing-like sleeve as she does so.

The-one-she-cannot-place takes the mask with no small amount of caution and runs her fingers over the edges until she sees the name scratched into the inside.

It is in the common human language because she had wanted the mask that came from the _outside_ even if she could get one of better quality from the usual Elvian merchants, and she is glad for it now.

“Nas- Nascha? Is that your name?” The-one-she-cannot-place asks, and she beamed beneath her sleeve as she nodded, slow and deep so that the group could see even without removing her arm.

The-one-she-cannot-place gives her back her mask and she slid it back in position like she’d been doing it her whole life.

She is glittering emerald eyes and dark hair and skin, woven of the very forest itself, she is beautiful and her antlers are filled short because they ruin that appearance and her voice is broken. She was given her wedding gift when she was seven and the Elkrin is as gorgeous and mysterious and _useless_ as she is.

But she is not that girl and she would never be.

She had not given it much thought before but now it is as easy as breathing.

She is Nascha, who wore masks and cloaks, who ran so fast she looked to be flying, wings and tail spread with the force of her movements, ready to take off at any moment. Her shoulders shake when she laughed but no sound escaped and she communicated with birdsong and whistles and a series of handsigns and writings.

She nods.

_Yes, my name is Nascha._

 

* * *

 

 

The wolfkin is Matthias, who is easily startled and a little slow, but emoted with his entire body. His eyes glow and ears perk and tail wagged when he was happy, cheeks surely hurting with the force of his smile and hugged like an Ursa without thinking about it. He cooed over Avis in a way that would be condescending to an Elkrin if he was not so pure of heart and intention, and his intention was to make sure Avis knew he thought the Elkrin adorable. He has a sense of innocence about him the other two do not have, a positivity and want to do his best that Nascha very rarely sees in any Elvian, where physical affection is not commonplace and you are to keep your emotions dull and little.

Nascha thinks she will never meet another person who is as trusting and immediately kind as Matthias. She is glad to have met him.

The human boy who is the smallest and the thinnest of the trio is Lyric, and he is whip-smart and sharp humor and fierce loyalty. His eyes don’t work in the same way her voice does not, and he is companionship and understanding and burning frustration that she cannot communicate to him more clearly because he _listened_ to anything and everything and Nascha feels as though they would get along like a house on fire.

He is the one bonded to both the Serval, Keeper, and the Humming Bumble, Clover. He has a scar that splits his face in two, a fresh one across his nose, and he is cautious and curious and reminds Nascha of a Liger sizing up their meal from the shadows. He is two magical bonds and the capacity for so, so many more, and quiet, unflinching protection and speed that can match her own if he tried and grace with a knife it is both fascinating and unnerving to see. Nascha is glad to have met someone so similar to her.

The-one-she-cannot-place is named Tetra, and she is easy camaraderie and quick acceptance, kindness and loyalty wrapped up into a halfborn who is more whole than half. She speaks too loudly and spoke with her hands, a need for travel and adventure that radiated throughout her whole being and a lopsided smile she shared easily and often and so bright it reminded Nascha of the pure white of snow. She is maniac energy and the same intelligence of Lyric, just applied to different things, and by the time Nascha has spent two hours with the group has managed to pick up the basics of her sign language and begun teaching Matthias and Lyric how to do it.

Nascha has never met a being like Tetra in her entire life. She is loath to leave them.

She does so with a heavy heart and Avis tugging on her wing-sleeve urgently, but the Elkrin was right. She could not come back if she was caught and the small group of lost souls would certainly face tougher consequences than she.

Nascha is like the owls she so adores, and flies back to her kingdom with barely the sound of a feather falling.

 

* * *

  

She tries to go to them again the next morning, when she managed to slip away from the festival, but the Ancient stops her.

She had never met Mythandian, only heard the stories and reverence in the voices that told them.

He is not so impressive in person, really.

“Stay where it is safe, Young One,” Mythandian warns, and Nascha forcefully moved past him like she had not heard.

Mythandian does not stop her, but her heart is still racing with fear when she comes upon the group again.

They welcome her warmly, if they are a bit surprised, and the fear disappears.

 

* * *

 

 

“Outside of this forest lies great harm,” Mythandian warns her the next day, “You are safe here, Child. Return to your home.”

Nascha has already chosen a new home, and she is returning to them, so she walks past him and Mythandian lets her go.

They are not as surprised to see her this time, but they welcome her just as warmly. They steal apples from a nearby orchard together and Nascha has never laughed so hard in her life.

 

* * *

 

 

“She is ice,” Mythandian warns, voice darker this time.

“She is ice and the freeze of winter, and her currents will drag you to the bottom of the sea. She is the darkness under the waves and she was never meant to exist.”

Nascha balled her hands into fists. She does not strike out at the Ancient, but it is a near thing. The only reason she does not is because she would likely do little more than break her own hand and there is a deep, primal part of her that  _fears_ this Ancient.

“She is a monster,” he says with finality, and Nascha looks pointedly at his fangs that he hides beneath his graceful face. If Tetra is a monster, Mythandian is something worse.

She is angry when she joins them, and they are concerned and try to push for answers and Nascha punches Tetra when the other girl pries too much.

Tetra apologizes then commends her on her strike, gives her pointers on which fingers to drive her hit with.

Nascha relaxes. They fall back into their usual banter and Avis bickers with Keeper and Clover keeps a watchful eye on them all, Lyric never missteps and Matthias nearly falls out of a tree trying to climb it to get some fruit and Tetra tries to show Nascha some tricks with her staff and ends up smacking it into the top of her head.

She swears fervently as she rubs the impending bump and Nascha does not know how anyone could ever consider such a person a _monster._

 

* * *

  

The next time, she packs to leave. She wears her messenger bag underneath her cloak and nicks some knives from the smith because she is not foolish, she knows the challenges she will face, and then steals a few more because they are throwing knives shaped like feathers and they are terrifyingly sharp and fit into her wing-sleeves like they are meant to be there, her own flight feathers.

Avis wears a similar saddle, small and not meant to carry a person but carry items and Nascha places a few of her feather-knives with the Elkrin for safe keeping then a few notebooks and ink. The remaining space is taken up by waterskins and some food she thinks the others will like.

Mythandian stops her again.

“You would follow something that was never meant to be instead of the Ancient who gave you Life?” Mythandian asks, voice dangerously low. Nascha’s mouth wobbles underneath the mask but she balls her fists the way Tetra taught her to and stands tall.

She would not need to say anything if she could.

Nascha never asked for the Life the Ancient had given her.

She wanted her own, and she would seek it now with her friends.

“You are not to return,” he warned, fangs bared in a snarl that only just does not leave his throat, and Nascha walks on because she had no intention of returning.

It is a mercy that he overlooks Avis and does not command the Elkrin away; small, mysterious, beautiful Avis who was never meant to be anything more than a pretty to look at companion.

It’s the Elkrin, and not her, who spits at his feet when he leaves.

Neither of them have any interest in an Ancient who will not listen.

 

* * *

 

 

When they meet the group, they greet her and Avis warmly as they always have and Lyric gushes over her knives with her and she slips him a few to keep with his own throwing knives.

They are warm in their greetings and they are overjoyed when they don’t have to say goodbye.

They sleep in a dogpile and rotate whoever stays up on watch, Lyric and then Tetra and then her and then Matthias, and Nascha does not feel like an Elvian anymore because suddenly it feels as though her body is moving much too fast, everything she feels is much too _much._

It is too much and too fast but the feelings are not bad.

They are warm in their greetings and move as a team and they sometimes go to fast but they wait and they _listen._

Matthias snores but he is a fantastic pillow and Tetra starfishes in an attempt to grab onto everyone at once in increasingly uncomfortable looking positions and Lyric tucks himself into the warmest body he can reach and wakes up at the slightest sound no matter who is on watch.

Nascha takes off her mask to keep watch and sits up. Matthias is sprawled on his back and snoring quietly, arms outspread, and Lyric is crushed into his side as tightly as he can, arms drawn to himself but resting dangerously close to his own set of knives and Tetra is mostly on top of him, right arm thrown lazily over Lyric and Matthias to rest on Nascha’s knee in an attempt to blanket them all with her small body.

An owl rune hoots nearby and Nascha raises her hands to her mouth to hoot back.

For an ice monster, Tetra runs hot. Avis shuffles in her sleep to tuck her head under Nascha’s hand and Clover does not shift from where she is sleeping on the Elkrin’s back, peeping quietly in her own version of snores in time with Matthias.

The wind is chilly and it rustles the leaves in the trees around them, and Nascha listens as the quiet song plays through the night, of owls hooting and the wind singing and the crickets playing their own tune and Matthias somehow managing to snore loud enough to be the bass for it all.

It is cold but Nascha does not feel it.

Lyric reaches across Matthias to grab onto her wrist and she leaned back into them, settling into their pile but not allowing herself to fall asleep just yet.

She does not have her Life but she has her life and she has her new friends and family to spend it with.

It will be worth more than her Life would ever be.

Lyric makes a humming noise of content and Nascha mimics the birdsong.

The night is a cold one but Nascha will never want more than the warmth they can provide.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao how about this self indulgence yeah
> 
> had a kinda bad day and my kids make it better so here's some stuff about my favorite (relatively)new OC, Nascha! Everyone needs an Owlvian in my opinion tbh
> 
> also I wrote this in like two hours and have done like no proofreading so if there's misspellings and stuff that's why idk man I'm tired
> 
> hey if you like these guys you can check out my other massive OC story that I've barely started, Binds of Blood! Nascha'll come in soon there, probably. Depending on when I can make myself do some more writing, really.
> 
> Kudos and comments feed my s o u l please tell me what you thought and what I could do better and if I made any mistakes and the like! I need so much of that sweet Validation(tm)


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